


The Church

by lwise2019



Series: Mikkel's Story [47]
Category: Stand Still Stay Silent
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-05-04
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:02:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24001042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lwise2019/pseuds/lwise2019
Summary: Reynir at long last finds his church.
Series: Mikkel's Story [47]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1536739
Comments: 1
Kudos: 9





	The Church

Grief sets many ambushes.

Mikkel stopped at an intersection to compare their position with their intended course. They had made excellent time; though he had estimated that it would take a week for them to walk to the outpost, in fact he believed they would make it by the evening of the fourth day.

Of course, they'd made better time than he'd estimated because he'd expected that Tuuri would be with them. Little short-legged Tuuri who never in her brief life had been permitted to walk in the woods for hours. Beloved Tuuri. Little sister. Lost forever.

And that thought brought him to the food. He'd expected to be on short rations, but that was because he'd expected to be feeding six rather than three. He'd expected to be feeding Emil, who griped and complained and whined, but competently stepped up to do whatever needed to be done. A well-loved little brother. And Lalli, quiet, quirky, homesick Lalli, with his rare flashes of humor, scouting tirelessly for them every night, and as often as not helping in the day as well. Another well-loved little brother.

All lost.

The images forced themselves before his mind's eye: Tuuri as he first saw her, Tuuri worrying for her cousin, Tuuri laughing … Tuuri in so many moods. Emil wearing a stupid bandage – oh, it hurt to remember that cruel prank – Emil covered in grossling slime, Emil grieving for the dog Beast, Emil laughing … Lalli's face, peaceful in sleep; Lalli swiping behind his ears when there was no need, just to tweak Mikkel; Lalli taking Tuuri's body from him – _**No!** You may haunt my sleep, but you will not interfere with my **duty!**_

His dead retreated. They always did, in the face of implacable duty. They would be back in the night.

Mikkel opened his eyes, found his hands gripping the handles of the wheelbarrow so tightly that his fingers were white and bloodless. Loosening them, he checked his team: Sigrun had fallen asleep, draped across the baggage; Reynir stood behind him, gazing at the ground, lost in misery. Neither had seen his moment of weakness.

He heaved up the handles and began pushing the wheelbarrow to the outpost.

Reynir trailed behind, the kitten riding on his backpack as the best rear guard available. Reynir trailed _far_ behind, and Mikkel had frequently to call to him to catch up. The Dane lacked the energy even to be annoyed at him.

Lunch was cheerless, mere fuel to keep them going in the bitter cold. As before, there was no conversation for there was nothing to say.

They were in a rural, wooded area, when Sigrun roused herself enough to look around, pay attention to the journey. “Still okay there?” Mikkel asked, seeing her awake and getting only a grumble in response. Gazing vacantly back the way they came, after a while she lifted her head to say, “Freckles is starting to fall behind.”

“Reynir!” Mikkel shouted at the Icelander, who was much too far behind. “You're supposed to be walking right next to us.” How many times had he said that?

“Sorry,” the other mumbled, ran to catch up, but soon fell behind again. After several minutes he called to Mikkel, “H–hey! Animal tracks!”

Mikkel had been focused on the woods, always seeking for grosslings, and had missed the animal tracks in the snow parallelling his own course. “Hmm. Would you look at that.”

Sigrun, much more alert than earlier, answered, “What's this? Those look way too fresh for comfort! We've got a dog beast nearby. Or possibly a wild dog. Or a wolf! Either way, it's a real threat. Keep your eyes open.”

“Yes,” Mikkel answered patiently.

“If it shows up, start shooting like a madman!” she ordered. “You only need one bullet to hit.”

“Or I will incapacitate it with a swing to the head,” he observed. A rifle was really just an awkwardly shaped club in his hands.

“I'm not sure what that word means, but it sounds good to me,” she answered with a sigh, animation draining out of her.

“I'll be vigilant,” he assured her, “You won't need to worry.”

Reynir ran to him, staying just behind his shoulder. With a slight smile, Mikkel asked, “Not too keen on trailing behind now?” “No,” the Icelander answered fearfully. They trudged on, Mikkel scanning the woods with heightened alertness.

Some minutes later Sigrun, looking back again, sighed, muttered, “Unbelievable. Attention span like a pigeon.” Shouting: “Chop chop, long-legs! Hurry up or we won't be responsible if – _Aaaah!! No! Stop!! **Mikkel! Get him!"**_

Mikkel whirled, saw the Icelander vanishing into the trees far behind them, dropped the handles, ran after him.

Mikkel was not a sprinter. The other was soon out of sight, but his footprints were clear to follow. It was a dreadful reminder of the previous chase.

_What am I doing, chasing this idiot? If he wants to go off and get eaten, let him! But my captain ordered me to get him, and I obey. And he's non-immune; it's my duty to protect him! Isn't it? As he pointed out, he's not a child. He is stupid, though, clearly._

_Tuuri, Lalli, Emil, all dead. Only Sigrun left alive and she's hurt and sick. Because of him! Because she stuck her arm in a troll's maw. For him! And I left her alone, helpless, undefended, prey to the first grossling that comes along. For him!_

_But I'll haul him back as ordered._

The thought was diamond-bright, diamond-hard.

_If she is dead, I will kill him._

_And then myself._

He was forced to slow down, was jogging rather than running, when he cleared the trees and saw it ahead of him: a church, glowing in the golden sunlight.

The church was in remarkably good shape, having a roof largely intact. Mikkel paused for only a moment, seeing it. Reynir had said he was looking for a church, and he'd found one. Whatever that meant, Mikkel meant to haul him back to where he belonged.

He charged in, gasping for breath, and saw the truant standing witlessly off to his left. Furious, frightened for Sigrun, he yanked the Icelander up by the scruff of the neck, shouting at him, “ _You insolent little **child!** Why did you run off like that? Sigrun is already ill and I left her undefended! Because of you!"_ He was so angry that he forgot his Icelandic and shouted in Danish; he was shaking, resisting the impulse to slam the other repeatedly against the nearest wall.

Motion behind him; he turned: it was Sigrun! He dropped the Icelander quite suddenly.

She grabbed Reynir by the collar, jerking him to her, and shouting, “ _What is your **problem** , you **brain-dead moron?!!** You almost gave Mikkel a heart attack!"_

Seeing her not only alive but on her feet and running, Mikkel locked away emotion, was quietly efficient once more. “Let's not resort to hyperbole. Everyone calm down.”

“You do that again and I'll cut off your braid! Then I'll make sure you –!”

Reynir knocked her hands away. She jumped back in sheer surprise, and Mikkel was instantly beside her. If the brat dared to strike her …

“I'm sorry I ran, okay, but this is important! I've _seen_ this place in a vision. No, in _two_ visions! It holds the key to banishing the spirits. I'm not going anywhere. Mikkel, tell her.” He turned and stalked away into the nave.

Mikkel translated his words, finishing, “Thus he is quite elated about this place.”

“Riiight,” she answered dubiously. She started after Reynir, following him into the nave. “So what he's saying is – _whaaat is going on here?!_ Did everyone in town just come here to die?”

They both looked around in horror. The pews were full of skeletons.

Mikkel recovered first, studying the place dispassionately. “From my brief observation, I believe this church served as a last stand infirmary to the afflicted. And here we have something familiar,” he added, carefully picking up a discarded syringe. “The faulty cure we came across in Copenhagen.” Turning to Reynir, he added in Icelandic, “Should this not signify the presence of more of those troublesome spirits?”

“It should, I think. But there are none. Everyone is gone.” He glanced back to the corridor to the left of the nave, where he had been standing when Mikkel burst in. “Well. Everyone, except for one soul.”

Sigrun followed his gaze, focusing on a door. Grossling slime had oozed out around the edges. Rifle in hand, determined, she stalked forward. “No! Stop!” Reynir cried, seizing her shoulder. “You can't kill her! We need her.”

Mikkel was there, looming, and the Icelander, feeling the menace, let her go. Satisfied, Mikkel explained, “He doesn't want you to kill whatever is in there.”

“Yeah, I get that from context. Why?”

Mikkel passed on the question. “She was the main mage of this house of worship,” Reynir replied, “and she's not a danger to us.” He held up the kitten, who was unimpressed with the human excitement. “See? Kitty doesn't think she's a threat. She must be able to guide old world souls to the afterlife. That's why there are none left in this place.

“We're staying here for the night.”

Mikkel shrugged, finishing the translation. “So, I suppose I can knock him out and tie him to the wheelbarry, or we can stay here for the night.” He looked around. “It seems like a good enough place to stay.”

“Yeah, I guess. I don't want to camp out _here_ though.” She gestured at the skeletons and, there being no debate about _that_ , they explored the church, finding an interior room that had been closed up long before. Protected from weather and vermin, it was as it had been left but for the dust. It featured a long couch, several high-backed wooden chairs, a heavy wooden table, and a shorter couch which they did not know had once been called a love seat. It even had a fireplace. “If this thing still draws,” Mikkel commented, “this room will be quite cozy.”

“Oh, it draws,” Sigrun replied. He looked at her in surprise. “Hey, we were brought here by visions. There's no way we're going to be run off by a cloud of smoke.” He blinked, took her word for it, left her with Reynir, and went off to collect the wheelbarrow and bring in firewood.

The fireplace drew perfectly.


End file.
